“Well, you’re obviously getting something from somewhere,” Creed says. “You’ve practically been skipping around the house since I got home. I shudder to think what kind of faggy orgies have been going on around here since I’ve been gone.” He turns to me and peers at me curiously. “Have you seen any men in ass-less chaps in my absence?” he asks me.
“Nope,” I say. “No chaps.”
“That’s good. I’d hate to walk in on—”
“You shouldn’t talk like that,” the Kid interrupts, his voice cold. “That’s not a very nice thing to say at all, Uncle Creed.”
Creed’s eyes go wide, as do mine and Otter’s. I can only speak for myself, but I think they’d all agree that we’ve never heard the Kid sound like this before. He eyes are narrow and his arms are crossed, and he’s shooting daggers toward Creed.
“Uh—say what, Kid?” Creed asks him.
“Don’t say fag,” Ty growls at him. “That’s a mean thing to say to anyone. You wouldn’t like it if I called you that, so I don’t like it when you call Otter that.”
Creed looks strangely at the Kid and then back at me and then to Otter and then to the Kid again. He nods slowly. “You’re absolutely right, Tyson,” he says quietly. “I was just joking around, but I promise to not say that around you again.”
“Don’t say that around anyone,” Ty admonishes.
Creed raises his hands, surrendering. “Okay, okay: I won’t say it around anyone ever again. Geez, Kid. You’ve got a stare down that would scare Jesus.”
The Kid continues to glare at Creed, and I motion to Otter to take him out of here before he launches himself at Creed and takes him out. Otter nods and lifts the Kid off the counter and into his arms. The Kid rests his head against his shoulder, and Otter kisses his head and whispers something into his ear, and from here, I can see him smiling. They leave the kitchen, and it’s not until we hear the TV turn on (CNN again) that Creed turns to me, his face ashen and his eyes wide.
“Okay,” he says, his voice shaky. “What the fuck was that all about? How the hell does he know about Otter?”
“You weren’t exactly being subtle,” I note.
Creed throws his hands up in the air. “So my lack of disclosure makes a third grader able to figure out my brother’s sexual proclivities? And how the hell did this get turned back on me, anyways? I was supposed to be chewing you out, not getting my ass handed to me.”
“He’s not a normal kid,” I say, reminding myself for the billionth time.
Creed takes another swig of his beer and sets it down. “I know that,” he tells me. “And we’ve got no one to blame for that but ourselves.” He shakes his head. “But that still doesn’t answer the question, Bear. Come on, spill.”
I shrug. “He asked Anna and me last week if Otter was gay. I didn’t see the point in lying to him about it.” I know, I know. That’s not exactly what happened. If Anna hadn’t been there, we’d probably still be sitting on the couch, him repeating my question, me with my mouth hanging open. Whatever. “He’s proven over and over again that he’s more than capable of handling things that would make most of us run in the other direction,” I tell Creed. “What’s the point of ignoring it if he would find out one day as it is?”
Careful, Bear, it whispers. You’re almost to that critical hypocritical stage. But at least you’ve moved past anger and denial, though, right? Oh, the steps are just so much fun! I think acceptance is right around the corner! Gay pride, here we come! It’s raining men at the YMCA! HALLELUJAH!
I look away from Creed.
“So the Kid knows, then?” Creed says in awe. “Well, that changes a lot. Now I’m really going to have to watch what I say. You don’t think….” He pauses and looks down at his beer, knocking it back and forth between his hands.
“Think what?” I ask curiously.
He hesitates, then says, “You don’t think Otter… gets offended by what I say?” He begins to speak faster. “I mean, I don’t care who Otter sleeps with. I don’t care that he’s a fa—gay. I don’t care that he’s gay. Why would I?” He grins thinly. “He’s my brother. You don’t turn away from someone like him just because he likes dick instead of the good stuff.”
I chuckle. “You certainly haven’t lost your way with words.”
“Bear, I’m serious!” he exclaims. “Does Otter really think I’m some gay-bashing homophobe? I thought he knew I was always joking!”
I roll my eyes at him. “He doesn’t think that at all, you moron. Otter would have beaten you down years ago if he had thought that at all.” I grin and take another drink of my beer. “He thinks we should even tell you about—” I freeze, the words dying in my throat. My tongue becomes stuck to the roof of my mouth, and I feel my stomach roil. Once again, my lips forgot to tell my brain that it was not supposed to move without prior authorization. Oh my GOD! my mind shrieks. Red alert! Red alert! Batten down the hatches and SHUT YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH! I grip the beer bottle so hard that I’m afraid it’s going to shatter in my hands. I think I should and cause a distraction, because Creed is sta
ring at me intriguingly, waiting for me to finish.
“Tell me what?” he asks.
ABOUT US! the voice bellows. HE THINKS WE SHOULD TELL YOU ABOUT US! CREED! CAN YOU HEAR ME? BEAR IS FUCKING YOUR BROTHER! YOU STUPID IDIOT, HE’S FUCKING YOUR BROTHER!
“Bear?”
I try to smile at him, but I know it’s a grimace stretched across my face. Once again, a blinding moment of panic has burrowed itself into me, and I can’t think of a single thing to say. The little voice inside my head continues to scream, begging, threatening, pleading for me to tell the truth. It gains control of me for a split second, and my mouth opens to do just that when I snap it shut, retaining brief dominance over myself. It could all be over! it howls angrily. It could all be over if you just grew a pair! How bad do you think it could be if he’s standing there, practically on his knees over worry about what Otter thinks! This isn’t a man who will hate you! Well, he’ll be shocked, it concedes, but he’ll get over it! Just say what’s in that secret place you’ve kept under lock and key. Oh please, Bear. Don’t keep it in the shadows anymore! I open my mouth again, not sure what is going to spill out, when I’m saved (cursed? foiled?) when Otter walks back into the kitchen.